Page 55 of The Devil of Downtown

Kent holds the car door as I step out and into the quiet of the lobby, taking the elevator to the penthouse, which occupies the entire two top floors.

The second I’m through the door, I pull off my tie and unbutton my shirt, tossing my keys on the counter. The sound carries further than it should, echoing in the huge space. There was a time I filled the silence with whichever woman was convenient, but all I really did was trade one kind of hollow for another.

After Helena died, the quiet was a type of penance.Survivor’s guilt,or whatever bullshit label you want to slap on it. I told myself that I needed it. Now I’m not so sure I still do.

I pour myself a scotch and head for the shower. Tiredness hits as I stand under the spray, palms braced on the tiles, letting the heat drag through me. I close my eyes and let everything melt away.

Almost everything.

She’s still damn well there, and I don’t know what to do about that. She lied to me. I don’t trust liars. And experience taught me that if someone deceives you once, they’ll do it time and time again. So I convince myself, this is simple: I’ll teach her a lesson. Use her, break it off, move on. But what I didn’t factor in is this tightness in my chest. The stupid thrill every time I see her.

God, even waiting for her to text was an exercise in stupidity.

Groaning, I kill the water.

I’m not an impulsive person. I think, then act.

Not with her.

She’s got me wading into hotel swimming pools wearing nothing but a towel and stalking her to cheaply lit dance floors on a Saturday night.

What next? Karaoke?

If I stoop that low, you may as well shoot me now.

I towel myself dry and pad through to the bedroom, scotch in hand. I switch on the bedside lamp and slump back onto the pillow. Reaching for my phone, I ignore all the million other messages and navigate straight to Ivy’sWhy. You hiring?No surprise Ivy can’t answer a simple question. She seems intent on trying every shred of my patience. I pull up a new message and type.

me

Just checking your résumé is up to scratch.

I wait for a beat, not expecting an immediate reply. My heart gives a pathetic kick when the three dots flicker.

ivy

I thought I already had the job.

me

You do. It's called being at my beck and call.

ivy

?? *Rolling eye emoji. Why do you need to know what I do, anyway?

me

Because if I’m going to own your time, I should know what else tries to take it.

ivy

Are you always this bossy? Actually, don’t answer that. I’m a dancer. Anything else you need to know? Or can I sleep now?

me

Are you in bed?

Goddamn it. My cock stirs at the image of her tangled in sheets, skin bare, hair spilling across the pillow.